


Not Without You

by Muffie



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Beginnings, Character Death, Deathfic, M/M, Sentinel Thursday Challenge, post-TSbyBS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With senses that bring back memories and a blue jungle empty of the wolf, Jim tries to cope with the loss of Blair. There is a happy ending, or a fair facsimile thereof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, the end of the 14th section was to be end of the story. It felt natural to stop it there and move on, but I wanted some happy. 15 is something of an epilogue, of how it could be. It fits, yet doesn't fit, if you know what I mean.

**1\. Tapping Keys**

The Jags were playing on TV. The sound was off. The laptop was running, the fan whirring, electricity sparking through the wires. The word processor was open to the last line of an article for a police journal, the cursor blinking away at the end of the last sentence, waiting for the start of a new one. Tea, now cold, sat near the lap top, the scattered notes, and the pen. It had taken a while, but Jim had figured out how to turn off the hibernation process and screen saver. Now the laptop sat there, waiting, the article retinally burned into the screen like an after image.

Jim watched one of the rookies weave through defense and make a layup. He tilted his head and listened for laptop keys moving in their own rhythm, like urban drums keeping time for the new tribe. He lifted his beer bottle for a swig, his eyes moving from TV to the empty chair. His beer stopped about halfway, then lowered it again, the neck swinging listlessly from his fingers.

He took a deep breath. Under the musty layer of dust that had long since gathered, he could smell himself. There were pathways from the stairs to the bathroom, to the kitchen, the front door, to the couch. Beneath that, there was the layer of Sandburg, faint and growing fainter. The trails led everywhere and touched everything, even in the closet upstairs where he was never supposed to be. Sandburg and personal space were two concepts that weren't on speaking terms. It was strongest from Sandburg's room, faintest and growing more so from his usual spot on the chair across from the couch, and replaced entirely by the ozone scent of laptop in the kitchen.

Jim closed his eyes. He filtered out everything but the smell of Sandburg and laptop ozone. It was weird how he associated the scent of a running laptop with Sandburg, even though it didn't carry his actual scent. He could almost hear the tapping keys.

He _could_ hear the tapping keys.

The sound of Sandburg's heartbeat exploded in his ears, the breathing, hitching with shifting moods of Sandburg in full write. There, _there_ , he could hear the little, under the breath mutters of Sandburg wrestling with a sentence or a paragraph he couldn't get to work just right. Sandburg's scent shifted from smug academic to frustrated. Jim took a drink of his beer to cover his smirk; God knew how Sandburg always knew when Jim found him cute or amusing, but he did. Sandburg growled under his breath and stabbed at the backspace key.

"C'mon, Chief, Starsky and Hutch is on. Give it a rest."

Jim's voice echoed in a stale way. As if the loft were chilly and dirty. As if there was no extra, vibrant body for it to bounce off of. 

His eyes snapped open. The laptop was running with the word processor open to the article Sandburg had been writing for police journal. The Jags were on TV, not a dumb, old cop show Sandburg liked to compare them to. The sound was off. The only heartbeat in the loft was his own.

The beer bottle hit the hard wood floor and shattered.

**2\. Legacy**

Simon stepped off the elevator and strode past Jim's desk without looking at him. "Ellison, my office." Simon flicked on the lights and sat down.

Jim heaved a sigh, heaved himself out his chair, and didn't heave his desk across the bullpen. He followed Simon. 

"Sit."

Jim sat in the chair next to the window sill, the one where Sandburg liked to perch on one butt cheek. 

"Joel's flying to Alabama for a few days. His daughter is in the hospital."

Jim frowned, leaning forward. "Is she having the baby?"

"Early. Doesn't look good."

"Damn."

Simon's lips tightened and he took a deep breath.

Jim's fingers curled into his palms, his nails not quite breaking the skin. 

"He was working the Tongs case with Oliver. You're now primary. You will work with Oliver. I better not hear a single complaint about your behavior out of him." Simon glared. "I don't care how funny you think he smells."

Jim clenched his jaw. "I work alone, Captain."

Simon held his gaze. "Oliver is too new and you're the only one with time and experience to take this one on."

"I wo—"

"You work with Oliver now."

"Th—"

"You turn in your badge and gun this time, it's for real."

Jim ground his teeth. "It was for real before."

Simon sighed, long and gustily, and leaned back in his chair. "Jim, I miss the kid, too. I'm not going to pretend that I miss him like you, but—"

Jim's eyes narrowed. 

Simon watched him for a few long moments, judging, calculating, doing it in that Blair, I have a minor in psychology way that Jim never liked. "Jim, when I'm gone, Daryl's still going to be here."

Jim nodded when it became clear Simon was specifically waiting for a reaction.

"What does Blair have?"

Jim's heart clenched, stopped beating for a moment. Every muscle he had clenched around it.

Simon nodded fractionally. "You."

It....what...he....

Simon leaned forward. "Blair's legacy is you out there on the street doing your sentinel shit."

No. 

"Work with Oliver."

No.

"Close the case."

No.

"Get it in front of the DA."

No.

"And put them away." Simon wove his fingers together on his desk, the skin rasping together like 100 grit sandpaper on oak beneath an amplifier. "Then it's back to your own cases, by yourself, business as usual."

Jim found himself nodding.

Simon nodded back. "Good. Now get out of here and get some breakfast or something."

Breakfast? No. It would taste like sandpaper. Jim went back to his desk and pulled a case file from his middle drawer. It was a copy of the first case Sandburg had ever typed up for him. He traced his finger over the words until Oliver got in.

**3\. Cordite**

If they'd been married, it would be like a his and hers gun shelf. This is Jim's service weapon. This is Blair's service weapon. Every day he put his weapon on the shelf when he came home. Every day he picked up Sandburg's. He pulled it out of the holster, checked the action, checked the rounds, and then slid it back into the holster and put it on the shelf. It sat there, next to his. 

Once a week, he cleaned them both. He sat on the couch nowadays, the cleaning supplies on the coffee table, and cleaned his first, and then Sandburg's. His was dirtier, filled with powder and grit from his time at the range. Sandburg's carried a fine coating of dust from sitting on the shelf. When he was finished, he put them back on the shelf. Side by side. Jim's and Blair's.

When it was time, he'd use Blair's.

**4\. Blue**

The last time he called the wolf, it had turned around and run toward him. It had pricked its ears and run as fast as it could until it was almost upon him. Then it had leapt, and he had leapt, and in a brilliant flash of light, they'd come together.

Now, he called the wolf and only the jaguar showed up. It wasn't any happier than he was.

He plopped down on the jungle floor, his butt soaking up water and muck, and stared up at the canopy. The jag plopped next to him. He rubbed its shoulder. "You feel the hole, too?"

It tilted its head.

"Why don't you just turn into me, ask your stupid questions, and then help me figure out what I'm supposed to do now?"

It blinked at him, but didn't turn into his spirit self and ask him what he was afraid of. He knew the answer this time. Hell, he was living the answer.

"Goddammit!" He jumped to his feet and stalked off through the jungle. 

**5\. Fuck Buddies**

His bed was rumpled, well used and messy. The comforter had been kicked down on one corner to fall off the end of the bed. On the other side, it stretched three-quarters of the way toward the pillows, almost like an embrace. There were two pillows, scrunched together. The indentations had faded. When had that happened? Days ago? Weeks? The pillow on the left, toward the stairs, should have a heavy, deeper indentation of his own head, right in the center. The scrunched one on the right should have half an indentation of Sandburg's head, the rest of the indentation bleeding onto Jim's pillow, like every other part of Sandburg's life.

The sheets were wrinkled and smelled like male and sex. The sperm had long since died, but the odor of the ejaculate was still alive. Less than it used to be, but still there. The smell of their combined sweat had faded from the sheets, to the point where he had to search for it, but it still wafted from the comforter.

When they first became fuck buddies—not lovers, but friends with benefits—Sandburg had dug, and dug until the little shit had figured out that his desire to change the sheets and wipe up everything wasn't a sentinel thing, but a Jim thing, or as Sandburg called it, a prude thing. Come was sticky and smelly. It dried and flaked and got over everything if you slept in it. The wet spot was uncomfortable. But come was a natural substance, too. It didn't irritate his skin, or drive his senses crazy like the baby wipes he tried to use sometimes. 

Now, standing beside his bed as he did every night, Jim was glad Sandburg had taught him to be okay with not rushing right out to clean up, to change sheets, to get rid of any evidence. 

He could stand here now, with his eyes closed, and smell them together. The little room under the stairs where Sandburg had slept, unless they were enjoying the benefits part of their friendship, was _Blair_. The couch, where he now slept, was _Jim_. The bed was _Blair and Jim_. 

Jim closed his eyes and searched for the smell of ejaculate. It was fading, slowly, as the dust took over. It was spread over the center of the sheets, concentrated where they had come, but worked into places their sleeping bodies had pressed it until it dried. The first time that night had been quick, almost frenzied. They'd stripped and dove into the bed, kissing and rubbing. Frottage is the word Sandburg used. Dry humping is the word Jim used. With his tongue in Sandburg's mouth, he'd reached down and wrapped his hands around both of their dicks. And Sandburg and made that little gurgling moan. And in his head, he'd thought of Sandburg as Blair. Thought the name, tasted it, loved it. Blair. Blair. His hips had thrust in time with the name until his warm come covered them both. A few heartbeats later, Blair's had joined his. He used his hand, already sticky from jacking them both off, to mix their two essences together, until they smelled like one thing.

Blair had laughed and wiped it on the sheets. 

The laugh. He could almost hear it now. Jim concentrated, the scent of their ejaculate strong, and listened. He heard Blair's heartbeat first. It was fast, still hyped up from orgasm, but gradually slowing into a languid, still aroused rhythm. Then the laugh.

"We're not done yet, Big Guy."

Before Jim could reply, his mouth was full of Blair's tongue. Which was probably a good thing. He was getting closer and closer to crossing the fuck buddy line they'd established into the forever and ever amen territory that would never fit a Sandburg. Instead, he moaned and licked Blair's tongue back. Blair groaned into his mouth, already hardening back up. 

Blair's skin when he was hot for it smelled so rich; Jim could get off on it alone. He licked his way down Blair's chest and belly, to where the smell was thickest. It would take him a few more minutes to catch up to Blair, so he figured he'd play for a while. Blair spread his legs and let Jim between them. Jim put his cheek against Blair's dick and took a long. leisurely breath full of sex scent. Before the senses came on, he had to rely on the usual clues to know his partner was into him, the flirting, the orgasm noises, wiggling, that kind of thing. Now, he could smell it. It was heady stuff, almost enough to make him want to keep Blair tied to his bed forever, just to see how much sex they could have.

"You're turning me on, man," Blair said. Hard, cool plastic tapped him on the head. "Here. You're topping tonight."

Jim took the tube of lube and felt the slow burn move down his spine, straight into his dick. He uncapped the tube, got enough slippery stuff, and introduced his finger to Blair's hole. The rich smell around Blair's groin deepened and Jim felt himself moan, rather than heard it. He took tiny little lick along the length of Blair's dick, tasting the salt, and pushed his finger inside. He wiggled it around, relaxing the muscles and searching for the prostate.

"Oooh, yeah, Jim, say hello to my little friend." Found it. "Like your finger, man, but when it's your cock rubbing it? Blows my mind totally."

Jim lifted his head up to meet Blair's eyes. He pulled Blair's dick up and back, until the head rested against his lips, the precome slick and wet. He smirked at the sudden dilation in Blair's eyes. He slowly opened his mouth and just as slowly ran his tongue under the frenulum, first on the left side, then the right.

Blair licked his lips, his belly heaving with each breath. His heart pounding. "Oh shit, you know how hot you look when you do that?"

"Not half as hot as you're going to look when I fuck you," Jim said.

Jim's eyes snapped open at the sound of his own voice. It was still stale. The loft was still empty. The bed had no one in it.

**6\. Dissertation.**

When Jim was eleven, Sally had fed them brussel sprouts for dinner. Eli Stoddard had the same look on his face when Jim walked into his office unannounced that Stephen had, had when Dad had made them eat the brussel sprouts.

"I need your help," Jim said.

**7\. Attitude**

Oliver was smart as whip, but defensive about his position. Jim was glad to put the Tongs case to bed so he wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Joel's daughter managed to keep from giving birth, but ended up on bed rest until the baby was born. Joel returned, jumpy with ringing phones, but willing to work. That was all that mattered in the end.

Jim caught the next case, a slavery ring importing poor kids from Egypt to work in the homes of upper class expatriate Egyptians in Cascade and other parts of Washington, if he could prove it. He looked at the names and whistled. Heads were going to roll by the time the stink on this hit the press. The mayor's cronies did not like getting outed as criminals.

A flash of red hair and cheesy fabric caught his eye. He watched Conner hang up her coat and then settle at her desk. She opened up a file folder and started reading through it.

"Hey, Conner, I'm heading out to do some interviews. You got a few hours to come along?"

Simon came to his office door and frowned at him.

He looked up and shrugged.

Simon nodded, half smiled, and then retreated back to his desk.

Conner, her jaw unhinged, blinked rapidly before shutting her mouth. "Uh, sure, mate. Who're you talking to?"

"Slave owners."

"Are you okay?"

Jim stood up and checked his pockets for his keys. "Sure, why?"

"It's just that you never ask—"

"Got to make sure things are taken care of, Conner. That's all. If you don't want to help, just say it."

She stood up. "I'll help."

**8\. Domestic**

Jim leaned against the counter and listlessly stirred the crystals of his Nescafe instant into the hot water in his cup. A few feet over, the microwave whirred, the glass tray inside jerking every once in a while. Frozen eggs and sausage warmed haphazardly in the way of microwaved meals. The smell was stale, like the loft, and not quite egg-like. Neither was the coffee. The sausage, though, it smelled too close to real, pan fried sausage. He used to love fresh eggs in the morning, but now the smell made him sick. Sausage, he could deal with. They didn't have it often; it was a treat, every once in a while, and it smelled of maple and a special blend of spices from the butcher where Sandburg had picked it up. He, Jim, would stand here, mixing up the eggs with a few herbs to blend with the sausage while Sandburg would stand there, within a half-step of a companionable shoulder bump, and—

The sound of his heartbeat throbbed through the kitchen, pushing away the sour scent of fake coffee and eggs, until it was fresh maple sausage and Sandburg.

"How are the eggs coming, Big Guy?"

Jim whisked a last whisk with a flourish and spun the bowl into Sandburg's reach. The heat of Sandburg's body was lower and less humid than the heat from the pan, but it was sweeter.

"Perfect timing, as usual, man." Sandburg looked up from the sausage long enough to smile at him. The urge to kiss him, outside of the sanctity of bed, where he could do it under the cover of a good, hard, buddy fuck, was almost irresistible. 

Jim turned and picked up his coffee cup. "Think my punctuality's rubbing off on you, Darwin. You told Brown yesterday that fifteen minutes early is late."

"Oh man, you heard that?"

He ruffled Sandburg's hair. "I could be across the country and I'd hear that."

Lukewarm, fake coffee that tasted faintly of dust spilled across his lips and down his shirt. Jim jerked, eyes flaring. The scent of maple left his sausage. The stovetop stood empty, with no one in front of it.

Jim ripped off his shirt, threw it toward the trash, left it when he missed, and headed for the basket of folded laundry next to the coffee table.

**9\. Testing**

Jack Kelso, Marie Edwards, Beverly Sanchez, and Don Haas watched with varying degrees of astonishment as Eli Stoddard and a medical doctor duplicated several of Sandburg's more dramatic tests.

"Oh my God," Haas said. "Oh my God."

Edwards' mouth tightened into a thin-lipped, white line, practically disappearing into itself.

"Shit," Sanchez said.

"He lied," Haas said. "Why would he do that? What in the hell?"

"Blair Sandburg had more integrity in his fingernail clippings than you'll ever have in your entire life," Kelso said. 

"Awarding Blair his doctorate is just an administrative issue at this point," Stoddard said. "Marie just has to clear a few hurdles in administration and we can award it posthumously at the next graduation ceremony."

Jim nodded, wincing a little from the testing hangover he was developing.

Edwards opened her mouth. "I see no reason why—"

"Lawsuit," Jim said.

"I'll see what I can do." Edwards crossed her arms over her chest. The word _freak_ was written all over her face.

"I'll stop by my attorney's office on the way home to help motivate you." The words _fuck you, bitch_ were written all over Jim's face.

"You'll have to be put on administrative leave until _all_ of your cases can be reviewed," Sanchez said. "Shit, Ellison. I liked Sandburg, too, but, _shit_."

Kelso rubbed his legs. "Doing the right thing is often difficult, Miss Sanchez."

Not this time, Jim thought.

**10\. Sweetheart**

The poker game was at Simon's. Everyone who wasn't on duty was there to support Jim, and, Jim liked to think, Sandburg. He was still on administrative leave while they tried to figure out if he'd violated anyone's constitutional rights with his abilities. Sanchez was almost done shutting down the appeals based on his senses. His fellow cops were getting tired of taking on his workload. He had finally tracked down Naomi. She was on her way.

Jim leaned on the counter overlooking the den and took a swig of beer and watched Conner take the pot. 

Daryl came through the front door, ear plugged into his cell phone, laughing. "Yeah, if Dad'll lend me the car, I'll take you out Friday."

Daryl one-arm hugged his dad and joined Jim. "Hey Jim."

"Hey Daryl, good to see you." 

"Dad getting cleaned out again?"

Jim nodded. "You know it. Having trouble getting a car?"

"Nothing reliable in my price range. I've got five hundred bucks. For that, it's either busted or doesn't have an engine."

Jim fished his keys out of his pocket. "Take my truck for a spin around the block, then we'll talk money."

Daryl's jaw dropped. "For reals?"

"For real."

"But—"

"No buts. I know you'll take good care of her. You're a college man now. You need good transportation."

"But what will you drive?"

Jim took a drink of his beer and shrugged. "I've still got the Volvo."

Daryl winced. "You're going to need the jaws of life just to get out of that thing."

"You want it or not?"

Daryl smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Three-fifty, it's yours. You'll need the rest for tags."

**11\. Naomi**

Jim stood in the doorway, the doors with their etched glass folded away. He took a few deep, meditative breaths, and smelled the purest Sandburg smell left on the earth.

He closed his eyes and flared his nostrils to get as much of the smell as he could. It was still strong, if dusty. Still so Sandburg. He concentrated on the scent until he heard the heartbeat. Until he heard....

"Jim, man. Jeez, I'm nervous, um, look, don't kill me, but I've got this idea and, just hear me out before you explode or have a cow. If you don't like it, we can forget the whole thing and pretend it never happened, okay?" Blair was sitting on the couch, arms curled around his knees. It made him look impossibly young and easily hurt.

"Relax, Chief, whatever it is can't be that bad," Jim said. It double echoed. Now, a whisper across a musty room. Then, a strong, if amused voice. "I've been doing your harebrained schemes for years."

Sandburg gave a flat, unamused look and pulled at his hair. Whatever it was, it was important to him. "Way to build a guy up, Jim."

Jim sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I hope we've gotten past all the crap from our past. Trust me not to hurt you, buddy."

Sandburg's eyes searched his face in a deep, absorbing way, looking for something that Jim couldn't name. Eventually, Sandburg was as satisfied by whatever he found as he would ever be. "I think we should have sex," he blurted.

Jim froze. He'd heard the expression, you could have knocked me over with a feather, but he'd never experienced it before. "What?"

Sandburg chuckled nervously. "Sex. I think we should do it. Like friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. You haven't been on a date in forever and if you've been getting any, it's been some kind of quickie in the storage room somewhere. I haven't been getting any either. We haven't had the time, man. It's been, you know, crazy." Sandburg's hands waved, to demonstrate how crazy. "So in the dry spell, I think we should be buddies with a little more. Work some extra, um, frustration off. Mellow out. Whatever you want to call it. We can figure out some limits or something, if you're uncomfortable with the idea of anal sex, or oral sex, maybe just mutual handjobs, or some—"

Jim shut him up with a hand over the mouth. He didn't think it was wise to shut him up with a kiss, despite what was on offer. Not yet. Not until he understood. "Easy there, Chief. Let me see if I got this straight. You want us to have sex when we're not dating?"

Sandburg grabbed his arm and pulled his hand away. "Yeah. Sort of like a we do it with each other when we don't have other options. No strings, man. You find the love of your life, or someone you want to date, it's off while you're dating. I know you're all about being faithful. And so am I." Sandburg smiled. "It's just that there's no reason to go without when you've got a friend to help out, you know what I mean?"

Friends. With benefits. He could work with that. Jim smiled back. "Yeah, I know what you mean. So, when would we start this benefits thing?"

Sandburg's smile turned wicked. "Well, I know how much you're a stickler for the rules, so we could start this benefits thing right after we lay down the ground rules."

"Sounds good to me, Chief."

"What do you think about oral sex with a man, Jim?"

Jim pursed his lips and pretended to think about it.

"Jim?"

"Don't rush me, Chief," he said.

"Jim? It's Naomi. Are you okay?"

Jim flinched violently away from the new touch on his arm. He blinked and shook his head. Naomi watched him, concern in her eyes. "Jim?"

He hadn't heard her come in. He hadn't noticed her. He'd practically zoned on the memory. He stepped back from Sandburg's room and shut the door. "I'm sorry, Naomi, I was just thinking."

"You were thinking pretty deeply."

"Yes. Come sit down, we have a lot to talk about."

She looked at the closed door with a frown, but followed him to the couch and sat.

"You're his heir," Jim said. "His dissertation can be published once he's awarded the doctorate. Some decisions have to made."

**12\. Graduation**

The auditorium overflowed with police officers despite the University's rule of handing out two tickets per graduate to the event. Even the commissioner showed up. Jim sat with Simon and the rest of Major Crimes.

The ceremony took too long to get through the presentation of degrees for new doctors of philosophy. Jim frowned when Sandburg's name wasn't called. He, Simon, and the rest of Major Crimes leaned forward. Edwards smiling with her mouth, if not her eyes, stood behind the microphone and cleared her throat as the last of the applause died away. "This evening, we'll be awarding one final degree to a most unusual student."

Jim relaxed in his seat.

"Blair Sandburg first came to Rainer at the age of sixteen. He quickly gained his bachelor of arts and then master of arts in anthropology. Once he began his pursuit of the doctoral degree, his mentors and advisors thought he'd gain that in record time as well, but something stalled his progress. He got involved with the police, to study one of them for his dissertation. A few years ago, you may remember Blair Sandburg standing before the press declaring himself an academic fraud and his dissertation a lie."

Jim's eyes burned. Murmurs shifted through the audience.

Edwards paused long enough for the shifting to decrease. "A few months ago, the officer that Blair Sandburg worked with came forward with the most incredible information. Blair did lie. His dissertation was true and he was not a fraud. He lied at that press conference to protect his friend and the police department from the inadvertent leak of his dissertation to the media, which spun out of control and put many people in harm's way. So Blair sacrificed himself and his career to save those people. He lived quietly, working as a detective with our police force, until last year when he passed away in the line of duty, once again sacrificing himself to save others.

"Blair was an exemplary student and a meticulous researcher. His completed dissertation needed no defense and, once published, will go on to help others as he had dedicated his life to doing. As he has completed all coursework and requirements for a doctorate of philosophy in anthropology, tonight, we will be awarding Blair his doctorate posthumously. Here, to accept his degree, is his mother, Naomi Sandburg."

Jim stood and clapped with everyone else as the blurred form of Naomi Sandburg walked across the stage to shake Edwards' hand and take the diploma.

**13\. William**

Dad and Naomi were the most unlikely allies. Eli Stoddard had shopped the dissertation around, painting lurid pictures of the story behind its creation to various publishers until they'd settled on Bedford St. Martin's. It would have three different books out of the deal. The first would be an academic book, the first book on sentinels published since the Burton monograph. Stoddard himself was preparing the dissertation for this publication. The second book would be a scientific book written for a lay audience. Stoddard was collaborating with the publisher to find a ghost writer. The third book would be written by another author chosen by Stoddard and the publisher, and it would be the story of the dissertation itself. The only reason Jim agreed to that was the money. And the money is what sent Jim to his father's house. And what brought his father to meet with Naomi.

They were in Dad's dining room, chatting over tea that Sally had made, and making plans for the advance and the expected royalties from both Sandburg's books and the money they'd make suing Berkshire. Jim had two things he specifically wanted them to do with it. The first, was create a scholarship fund for doctoral students in anthropology. The second was to create a charity that would help Cascade's underprivileged children get good education. Sandburg had always preached that education was the way to stop crime in its infancy.

Dad laughed at something Naomi said, and she shook her head, an amused smile on her face. Jim smiled to himself a little. Dad could deal with it. The two of them would make sure Blair's real legacy would carry on, for whatever reasons they came up with.

**14\. Zone**

Jim went to the bathroom and did his business. From there, he took a shower and cleaned himself with the oatmeal soap he was almost out of. He dried off and hung the towel over the rack. Naked, he went upstairs and looked at the bed. Carefully, he narrowed in on scent, looking specifically for where their mixed semen was most concentrated. He laid down on the bed, curving around the long since dried wet spot.

He closed his eyes and breathed, filtering away everything but the scent of them. The stale, empty sounds of the loft faded. Blair's heartbeat filled his ears and the smell of Blair filled his nose.

"I love kissing you, man," Blair said. "There's nothing like it in the world."

"You're not too shabby yourself." 

Blair grinned. "Still can't take a compliment, can you?"

Jim huffed in mock annoyance, but smiled. He ruffled Blair's hair. "Get some sleep, Darwin. We'll have to deal with Hagen and his goon squad tomorrow. The warrant'll come through and you know Hagen."

Blair yawned. "Kiss first."

Jim met him halfway. The kiss was long, slow and sweet. It wasn't the friend's with benefits, let's get it on kissing he was used to getting from Blair. It was the kiss he'd been wanting from Blair for a long time. 

Blair smiled sleepily. "I liked that."

Jim tangled his legs with Blair's. Maybe they were heading beyond friends, into something better? "Me, too."

Blair snuggled in, touched Jim's cheek briefly with his tongue. "Night, Jim."

"Night, Chief," Jim said. I love you, Jim didn't say.

He fell asleep with Blair's breath on his cheek, Blair's heartbeat in his ear, and Blair's scent so mixed with his, that he couldn't tell them apart.

This time, though, he didn't dream.

**15\. Blue, Again**

"Jim, Jim, Jim. What have you done?" Blair stepped out of the undergrowth, the wolf beside him. He was wearing native Chopec clothes, shaman style.

"Chief, where the hell have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you. I couldn't find you." He turned on the wolf. "And you! What the hell good are you if you just disappear?"

"Jim," Blair said, as serenely as Incacha had ever sounded after he'd died and been happy about accepting it and not coming back. 

Jim's fists clenched and he "You never came when I called you, where were you, wolf? What good are you?"

"Jim. I'm dead," Blair said, one hand rubbing the wolf's head. Underneath the calm exterior, Jim easily noticed that he was vibrating with pure Sandburg energy. Not so calm, eh, Chief. "Hagen shot me. There was no going back for me. It's not too late for you, though."

Jim frowned.

Blair smiled gently. "Wake up, Jim. That's all you have to do."

"I'm dreaming?"

Blair raised his arms. "Blue jungle. What do you think?"

"I think that if I wake up, I'll never see you here again."

Blair tilted his head. "I don't belong here." He was too composed on the outside, too still. Too—

Jim gave himself a full body shake. No. He wasn't buying it. "I choose you."

"Jim, you—"

"No. Where ever you are, they obviously need shamans because that's what you are. If they need shamans, they need sentinels, too. I choose you, Blair."

"Jim, it's not—"

"If I don't wake up, will I stay with you?"

Blair bit his lip, eyes huge. It was the classic, I can't lie to you even though I should Sandburg face. It was fascinating, watching the decision dawning in Blair's eyes, moving up from the tear ducts and across to the laugh lines. The pupils dilated and expanded, turning the blue rings thinner, more liquid, and windows to Blair's soul that much deeper. Decision made. Blair slowly nodded. "But it's not right. You have so much to live for. You have so much out in the world that you can do. I watched you, man. I'm so proud of you."

"I love you," Jim said simply. "Where you go, I go."

"Aw, Jim."

Jim took the few steps forward and put his hand on Blair's cheek. "Face it. You're stuck with me, Sandburg."

Blair wrapped himself around Jim. "I missed you so much."

Jim hugged Blair back. He tilted his head and laid his cheek on top of Blair's head. He had that heartbeat back. He was wrapped in Sandburg. Their scents were coming together again, so close he couldn't tell them apart. "I love you, Blair."

"I love you, too, Jim. Always have."

"So, where to, Chief?"

"I should make you go back." Blair half chuckled, half sniffled. "I'm supposed to. It's the right thing to do."

"I can't be without you."

Blair snuffled into his chest. "I shouldn't say this. I should be kicking your ass and making you go back. But I can't be without you either, man. Incacha sat on me every time you came here. He's got a bony ass."

"You couldn't make me go, anyway." Jim wove his fingers into Blair's. "C'mon Chief. Lead me home."

Blair lifted his head. "But it's not time yet."

"It's time." Jim tugged away from Blair, toward the light that resolved itself into a clear jungle. "There's nothing for me to go back to."

"Jim," Blair said, "you should have—"

"Sandburg. Simon'll know a zone when he sees one. Eli'll make sure that it'll get documented that a sentinel can't survive without a guide."

"Jim, wait. You—"

"I zoned, Chief. You know that."

"Died of a broken heart?"

"Something like that." Jim wrapped himself around Blair again. No broken hearts here.

"See that light? We'll go through it in about half an hour. When we get to the other side, Incacha is going to be seriously pissed at you, man. He's gonna do some serious shit to me. Might wanna lay low for a while."

"Half an hour?" Jim nuzzled his way into Blair's hair. "Why wait?"

"You're just zoned right now, man. You can still wake up. Go on and finish your life and do some really great things. You should go back."

Jim took a deep breath that smelled completely of Blair. "So, while we're laying low, wanna fool around?"

Blair's laughter rang through the jungle.


End file.
